


Only You Can Make it Right

by blarfshnorgull



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, I accidentally gave Petra a poly relationship but it vague enough to just be read as doropetra, its barely a character study imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfshnorgull/pseuds/blarfshnorgull
Summary: Petra has always bore an incredible burden for Brigid, but she promised to always stay strong for her people.That promise gets harder to keep with the threat of war looming over them.—Canon divergent au where a recruited Petra struggles with Brigid’s relationship to the Empire.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Petra Macneary, Caspar von Bergliez/Petra Macneary, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Ferdinand von Aegir & Petra Macneary, Linhardt von Hevring & Petra Macneary, implied Ashe/Petra, implied Caspar/Petra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20
Collections: Enabler's Gift Exchange





	Only You Can Make it Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcquaSole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/gifts).



> This is a gift for my good friend nick and boy did this get away from me lmao. The original prompt was “Petra considers her position relative to Edelgard and what it means to have met the rest of the class and the professor (can be any route)”
> 
> I saw this prompt and said it was free real estate for my ‘recruited Petra forced herself to side with the Empire’ au. I went feral and had a behemoth of an outline that mostly got cut bc irrelevance to the prompt. Also bc I have a hand injury and just can’t use my right hand atm lol.
> 
> Love you nick and I hope you enjoy.

_1180, Lone Moon_

Petra receives a letter from Edelgard shortly after the attack on the Holy Tomb. It is the type of letter filled to the brim with the suffocating platitudes of someone who wants something _more._ Edelgard herself once told Petra that this is the language of Fódlan’s nobility. Nothing but lies. Lies and empty promises.

Petra wonders if Edelgard was trying to warn her against herself.

The letter is a peace offering, or a gesture as peaceful as the Empire could be to their vassal. It’s the offer of an alliance, a promise of potential equality.

But Petra is not so naive to trust this offer of friendship. Not after she saw Edelgard’s true colors.

The actual words of this letter matter little. One sentence betrays Edelgard’s intentions hidden beneath her polite words. 

_Consider your allegiance carefully._

Petra doesn’t need to be fluent in Fódlan’s language to know that this is a threat.

She refolds the letter and clutches it to her chest while she lays in her bed. Her door is shut, and her curtains are drawn to stop the light from entering. It’s a ridiculous attempt to hide from reality, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

One wrong move, and Brigid suffers for Petra’s selfishness. One wrong move, and Petra puts Brigid under the Empire’s heel further. In the solitude of her room, she can at least pretend that she doesn’t have a knife to her throat.

A knock sounds at her door, reverberating in the silence. Petra tries to ignore it, tries to shut out what remains of the world and remain in her illusion. But time doesn’t stop, not for her or anyone else, and the knock continues just as loud and insistent.

“Petra?” Caspar, of all people, calls out to her. Her anger and grief boils at the surface, but she smothers it just as quickly. It’s not like he chose his father.

And yet…

The loss she feels around Caspar aches in every bone, dragging her to a depth of pain she thought she left behind in her childhood.

“Petra? Are you awake?” he calls out to her again, and her heart _aches_. He’s so kind, and every time her anger resurfaces, she can’t help but feel consumed by guilt. She was the one who wanted to put the past behind them, yet everything about him was another burning reminder of what she lost. 

She wishes that she could erase the memory, go back to when Caspar was just her loud but kind classmate. Not the son of the man who killed her father. The same man who would march on Brigid at his new Emperor’s order.

Caspar calls out to her a third time. “Petra?”

“Yes, Caspar?”

Her voice seems to incentivize him. He doesn’t hesitate to open the door. Light streams into the room, chasing away the shadows that were only growing longer.

“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet and halting, unsure of himself in a way that most would describe as uncharacteristic. But this is how he always is with Petra. Every word is more carefully selected than usual, like he is afraid she’d turn into glass and shatter.

But Petra doesn’t have the luxury to shatter. Or to be angry.

She hears the scrape of wood against wood, her desk chair being moved. She doesn’t watch him do this. She refuses to look at him.

“We’re worried about you,” he continues. “If you need to talk, we’d be happy to listen.”

He pauses. Petra still won’t look at him, but she can imagine his expression perfectly: eyes downcast as he fixes his gaze on the floor, just as unable to look at her as she can him. She knows he wears his shame like a badge, even after they agreed to leave their fathers in the past.

“After all, what are friends for?”

Something inside Petra cracks. Against all better judgement, she sits up and offers Caspar the letter. He doesn’t hesitate to take it once she’s proffered it to him.

He clutches the letter so tightly, as if he’s afraid Petra will take it away just as quickly as she gave it. His eyes furiously move from line to line, eager to devour the words before him.

And then his eyes stop.

Caspar clutches the paper even tighter, white-knuckled. His brow furrows, and his eyes move from one side of the page to the next, but with far more deliberateness than before. He grips the page with even more force, and the furrow melts into a scowl.

He looks up from the page abruptly, clenching his jaw as if it’s all he can do to restrain himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but he makes eye contact with Petra, and whatever righteous indignation he feels is quelled just as quickly as it came. He shuts his mouth with a resounding click of his teeth and looks at the floor. Looks anywhere but Petra.

“This isn’t right,” Caspar finally manages. He isn’t wrong, of course. It’s far from right, but whether or not it is means little when there are no alternatives.

But Caspar wouldn’t understand that. Petra knows him well enough to know he won’t understand her position. He’s lucky.

Petra shakes her head. “I am not having choices.” Her words are clumsy, like they always are. She wishes she could explain it better, but this is all she has.

Caspar shoots up from the chair, sending it careening towards the floor. “We’ll protect you!” he all but shouts, his fire returning, “We’d never abandon you, I promise!”

Petra balls the edge of her skirt in her fists. How can she make him understand that it’s more than just _her_ at stake? She sifts through all the words she knows in language he’ll understand, picking each one carefully.

“You —”

He cuts her off in his enthusiasm, flailing his arms around in a gesture to grab her attention. The accursed letter flutters uselessly in his grasp. “You don’t need to worry. Whatever happens, we’ll help you.”

Whatever cracked in Petra earlier breaks.

“How can you help when your father is the one doing harm to the people of Brigid?”

Caspar freezes, all color draining from his face. His expression morphs into one of horror, and his arms fall to his sides, sending the letter to the floor. He’s not an idiot, despite what most people think. Petra knows he hasn’t forgotten his father’s role, but he needs the reminder that his kindness won’t get either of them very far when reality is this cruel.

He turns away from Petra, breaking eye contact again. His hands ball up into fists so tight his knuckles turn white.

“We’ll make it right. I promise,” he continues softly, a far cry from his usual volume.

Caspar bends down to retrieve the letter. He refolds it with an unnecessary level of gentleness before placing it on her desk. 

He reaches for the handle of her door, but then stops himself. “I mean it. Not just for you, but for all of Brigid.” He opens the door to the harsh light of day, leaving Petra alone with his promise hanging in the air.

For just a moment, she believes him.

—

_1180, Lone Moon_

Later, when all the light has left the day behind, there’s another knock on Petra’s door. She considers ignoring it, in her exhaustion, but knows deep down that’s not how she should be handling her situation. 

The knock sounds again while she’s caught weighing the merits of answering. This time joined by a gentle voice on the other side. “Petra? Are you awake?”

Her eyes shift to the door at the sound of Ashe’s voice. He hates walking around the monastery so late at night, so why would he…?

“I didn’t see you at dinner,” he says from the other side of the door, bashful as ever. He starts again more quiet, more hesitant than before. “I brought you something in case you were hungry.”

Sometimes Ashe’s kindness amazes her. She’s never met anyone so thoughtful in her entire life, and not even she can turn away his gesture. Ashe may only be one person, but his generosity is a reminder that it might not be as hopeless as it feels

“You may be entering.”

Petra watches the doorknob slowly turn, almost timidly. The remaining moonlight slowly drifts through the ever so gentle way Ashe opens the door. 

He enters carrying a small tray of food. It’s covered, obscuring whatever is hidden underneath. Ashe takes a quick glance at Petra, but it’s too dark to make out his expression. Turning away from her, he places the tray on the barren desk with a small thud.

“I didn’t know if you felt like eating,” Ashe comments quietly, still facing away from her. “But I made you something just in case.”

Ashe fiddles with the tray out of sight. Petra tries to pay it no mind, but a familiar scent wafts it’s way towards her, disrupting her attempts at stoicism.

Ashe’s dinner smells achingly familiar. Petra knows she’s had this meal before, but the name escapes her. It’s a distant memory lost to the fog of time, painfully nostalgic in a way that leaves her longing for something that barely exists in her mind.

It’s like most of her memories of Brigid.

Petra’s hands shake, but her voice doesn’t. “This food is of Brigid?” 

Ashe stills at his position by her desk.

“Dorothea and I wanted to make you feel better,” he says with a nervous quiver to his voice. “But, we couldn’t find all the ingredients. I improvised a bit.”

He gives a nervous chuckle, ducking his head slightly. The movement is brief, but he manages to lean into the moonlight he let in. It illuminates him brilliantly, if only for a second.

“I hope it’s alright.”

It’s perfect in every way that matters, but she has no idea how to even begin explaining that to him. Instead, she gives a stiff nod. “You are having my gratitude.”

Ashe gives a slight sigh of relief. “I hope you enjoy it.”

He turns, making his way towards the open door. The motion lets her see his profile in the moonlight, completely red-faced, but trying to keep a brave face.

He stills in front of the door, hand halfway extended and ready to close it behind him. The moonlight envelops him, almost as if it’s radiating from him. He looks ethereal, much like how Petra imagines the ghosts he fears so much would look.

They’re nothing like the ghosts that Petra fears.

Ashe finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready to. But we’ll be here when you are.”

He leaves, shutting the door behind him. The only source of light disappears, enshrouding the room in the dark of night once again.

With nothing else to focus on, the scent of Ashe’s dinner permeates the room. The half forgotten memories linger like an uninvited guest, causing dread to pool in her stomach. Petra didn’t realize how much of Brigid remains a blur to her, and the reminder is sickening.

She refuses to let Brigid become nothing more than a fragmented memory, a ghost haunting them long since devoid of any meaning. Come what may, she will protect Brigid.

Brigid has already lost to the Empire once, and Petra won’t take that risk again.

—

_1181, Great Tree Moon_

One week after abandoning the monastery, Petra finds a crumpled note in her bag.

 _Petra, if you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be here for you if you need it.  
_ _—Byleth_

She hides the letter away, unable to look at it. She can’t cry, she doesn’t have the luxury to shed tears anymore. Even if the reminder of her professor is more than enough to suffocate her.

Petra has to be strong for Brigid, no matter what.

Even if it kills her.

—

_1181, Great Tree Moon_

Petra returns to Enbarr for the first time since leaving for Garreg Mach. Despite having spent five years of her life living in Enbarr, she feels as if she’s returning to the gallows.

It’s far from an unfamiliar feeling. If anything, her feelings about Enbarr are nostalgic in a twisted way. It’s exactly how she felt when she first saw the city five years ago. It took many months to overcome her initial fear of the city, a feat that probably wouldn’t have been accomplished without Duke Gerth’s protection.

Strange how just one year can take that all away.

Petra doesn’t have anyone to protect her or her interests, not since Edelgard revealed her true intentions. Not since Duke Gerth sided with those intentions.

The palace before Petra is nothing more than another prison for Brigid. At best, Edelgard will reward Petra’s loyalty with a promise for a better future for Brigid. Unfortunately, this comes with the price of fighting in Edelgard’s war, and Brigid has scarcely had a chance to recover from their last war.

At worst, the palace becomes an opulent tomb for what remains of Brigid royalty.

Petra wavers before the path to the palace. She could leave, just never respond to Edelgard’s summons. She could run away, return to Brigid and never look back.

She shifts her gaze to the shadows cast by the setting sun, the ever-present reminder of the palace. The sun sets behind it, its shadows looming over the streets of Enbarr. They stretch further and further, engulfing everything in its shade.

Running away would solve nothing. Brigid will be in danger from the Empire no matter where Petra goes. She has no choice but to submit to them.

She takes a deep breath, trying to summon whatever mask of strength she can muster. She straightens her spine and holds her head high, making sure the image of Brigid pride is all that shows. She’ll march to the palace as her own personal war.

Petra barely makes one step towards her destination before someone calls her name.

“Petra!”

She freezes the second she hears the voice. It could only belong to one person, the one person Petra hopes she wouldn’t see more than anything. The voice belongs to the only person Petra fears could talk her into abandoning her responsibilities to Brigid.

Petra forces herself to face her.

“Dorothea?”

There’s no point to phrasing it like a question; she could recognize Dorothea anywhere, even when she’s exhausted and out of breath from running.

Dorothea stops abruptly, just a few paces from where Petra stands. Petra can’t say anything; just looking at Dorothea makes her throat constrict painfully. The only sound is that of Dorothea's heavy breathing while she recovers from what must have been an abrupt sprint.

She catches her breath, smiling despite the exertion. “I didn’t expect to see you here of all places.” She stops again. Petra suspects it’s both to catch her breath and figure out what to say. “I thought you went home to Brigid.”

A sharp pain hits Petra in the chest. She looks away from Dorothea’s eyes, she can’t look at her while admitting what she’s doing. Not while Dorothea is so adamantly against the war.

“I am to be discussing Brigid’s future with Edelgard,” Petra manages, pretending like the words aren’t ashes in her mouth. She has to deflect, and quickly before Dorothea realizes the implications. “Why are you returning to Enbarr?”

Despite the attempt at deflection, Dorothea’s expression falls.

“That’s… a long story —”

A small voice interrupts whatever Dorothea tries to say.

“Miss Dorothea?” A child, small and dressed in a fraying shirt, tugs at Dorothea’s arm. His sudden appearance startles Dorothea, but she composes herself just as quickly. “Are we leaving?”

“No, dear,” she comforts him. She runs a hand through his hair that melts into a gentle pat on the head. “I’m just catching up with an old friend, nothing you need to worry about.”

Dorothea looks back from the direction he came from. “You should head back to the rest of the group, I’ll be right behind you.”

He nods, scurrying off towards wherever he came from. Petra watches him look back, almost as if he’s afraid Dorothea will disappear.

Petra can understand that.

“‘Group?’”

Dorothea laughs. “Yes.” She inclines her head in the direction the child ran to. Following the action, Petra can barely make out the shape of a woman surrounded by a gaggle of children that she missed earlier. “Manuela and I have been looking after some war orphans in Enbarr.”

“You are keeping busy.”

“We were actually just about to leave.”

“Why are you to be leaving?” Petra turns to look at Dorothea, some part of her hoping that she misheard. The other deeply selfish part of her wants Dorothea to stay, if only to feel less alone. “Is Enbarr not your home?”

Dorothea looks at the ground, clenching her fists tightly.

“This city is a nightmare,” she practically spits. “All of Fódlan is a war zone, and it traces back to here.”

The venom both is and isn’t surprising to hear. Petra knows Dorothea holds as much disdain for Enbarr as she does. It’s nothing more than a cruel city, and fate is cruel enough that it keeps forcing them back. It’s an unending cycle for them. Yet despite knowing this, Dorothea always restrained her cutting words in Petra’s presence.

Dorothea lets out a sigh, all anger fading into despair in an instant. “These kids have already lost so much… Manuela and I are moving them somewhere more stable. Somewhere they can be safe.”

“You have much kindness, Dorothea. The children will be finding happiness with you.” Petra tries to pour as much feeling as she can, but her words will always fail her.

Dorothea looks up, a hollow smile gracing her lips. “You’re sweet.”

There are a thousand things Petra wants to say, but she doesn’t know how. She can’t find the words, and she doesn’t know how to speak kindly when her own burden is drowning her.

So, she says nothing. 

It’s unbearable to see Dorothea like this and not know what to say. Their time together was so precious, and Petra doesn’t want this moment to end. More than anything, she wants to be with her and live in this reunion forever.

Dorothea breaks the silence first gently, almost like she’s afraid of what she’s going to say. “I’ve…” she stops herself, biting her lip in concentration. She speaks quieter, but more deliberately. “I’ve heard rumors that Claude leads the anti-Imperial faction in the Alliance. If you want…”

Dread wells inside Petra. Reality comes crashing back with horrifying suddenness, and her blood runs cold, frigid, even. Fear, real fear, ripples through her, and she can’t even find it in herself to pretend that she isn’t affected.

“That is inviting too much risk,” she snaps, far harsher than she’s ever heard herself sound in her entire life. “I cannot have you or Brigid be put in the path of harm.” She feels breathless from the effort of so few words.

But Dorothea only nods in response. Just a simple tacit understanding, and Petra feels her fear evaporate just as quickly as it came.

“I wish I could stay,” Dorothea says softly, taking one of Petra’s hands in her own. The ice in her veins feels like a distant memory, despite being there only seconds ago. “At least that way you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

Petra shakes her head, trying to ward off the desire to never let go of Dorothea’s hand. Anything to ward off the temptation to embrace her warmth.

“You are having responsibilities, just as I am having mine.”

Dorothea leans forward, ever so slowly. Petra already knows the intent behind the motion, but she can’t pull away. If anything, she wants to lean in. But that would be selfish.

Dorothea presses a kiss to the corner of Petra’s mouth. It burns. It burns in the most beautiful way imaginable.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Goodbye, Dorothea.”

Dorothea withdraws, and turns her back on Petra. She steps out of the shadows cast from the palace, back into the fading sunlight of Enbarr.

She doesn’t look back.

Petra bites her tongue to keep from calling out to her. Blood lingers in her mouth but she ignores it. She will endure. She has to.

Petra turns on her heel and walks further into the darkness surrounding the palace.

—

_1185, Lone Moon_

After four years on duty in former Faerghus, Petra finally returns to Enbarr. While Petra’s feelings on the city haven’t changed in the past few years, returning is almost a relief.

Being assigned to Faerghus was a nightmare beyond compare. She doesn’t know if it was intentional, but if the choice was deliberate to warn her about the repercussions for rebelling, she wouldn’t be surprised.

Once, she thought she would be content to remain on the field, never to see Enbarr again. But being surrounded by the reminder of what could have happened to her if she didn’t submit to the Emperor’s rule, it was it’s own brand of torture.

She still has nightmares about being executed by her own people.

At least the palace is a much more pleasant change of pace than the climate of what was once Faerghus, despite being overcast currently. Even if the weather there wasn’t perpetually freezing, the memory of what it once was, is more than enough to chill Petra to the bone. 

She hardly needs more reminders of what exactly the Empire is capable of.

The only comfort Petra can take is that she probably will not return there anytime soon. No, if her suspicion is correct, the Emperor is planning to reassign her. If the personal nature of the request was any indication, it is most likely a post that would put Petra directly under her supervision.

After all, the Edelgard she once knew always wanted to maintain complete control over her work, especially when it directly involves her ambitions. If there’s one thing Petra knows for certain, it’s that the Emperor’s war hasn’t changed this perspective. If anything, it’s reinforced this desire.

But Petra doesn’t have to think about the Emperor just yet. After all, she’s too busy to see Petra currently.

And it would be a shame to not visit one of the palace’s gardens while she waits.

It’s a rose garden, unlike anything on Brigid. A covered archway, absolutely swarmed with brilliantly crimson roses marks its entrance, only to grow more vibrant with each step. They curl around the small fountain situated in the center, intertwine with the iron-wrought fences, and hang from beautiful displays, encompassing the colors of a radiant sunset.

 _Dorothea likes roses_ , or at least Petra thinks she does.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember after so many years apart.

 _Would Dorothea like any of these?_ It’s impossible for Petra to ask, but she can’t help but wonder. She always showed a fondness for the color red, but the color makes it hard to ignore the blood that stains their petals.

Petra follows the line of the fence, decorated in pale yellow roses, with their edges faintly tinged red. They almost look plain in comparison to their bold red counterparts, but there is a certain charm to them. They are a soft, gentle shade that resembles the rising sun. Like a hopeful promise of a new day. It is… inviting in its own way.

Petra traces the edge of its petals with her finger. If any rose could match Dorothea, it would be this one.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to pick those,” a voice — a shockingly familiar one at that — calls out to Petra, snapping her out of her reverie.

Petra whips her head around in the direction of the voice. Behind her, there’s an alcove with a small table and two chairs tucked away, almost hidden behind a bush of orange roses. A man with a hair color to match the roses he’s surrounding himself in, sits in one of the chairs.

“Ferdinand?”

“Petra! I thought I recognized you!” His voice douses Petra like frigid water. He says nothing wrong, in fact, he sounds too normal. He sounds far too much like the classmate she once knew, and nothing like the son of a man that was ruined by the Emperor.

Petra approaches his table. It’s set for tea, smelling exactly the way she remembers him liking it. “I was not thinking I would see you again.”

He lets out a small chuckle. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” He inclines his head towards her, “What brings you here?”

 _War._ But Petra doesn’t say that; instead, she ignores his question. “May I be joining you?”

He blinks. “Of course!” His enthusiasm is familiar, but off at the same time. Almost as if it’s rehearsed. “Forgive me, I wasn’t prepared for any guests.”

Petra takes a closer look at his table. One lone tea cup, devoid of a saucer, with a mismatched pot.

“You look lonely, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand smiles, almost too hard. The edges of his smile look seconds away from cracking like a broken porcelain doll. “Perhaps, but I spend far more time worrying about my survival to think about that.”

“And when you have survived?”

He blinks, and the smile falters for the barest moment. “Pardon?”

“You are worrying about surviving now, but we will not always be fighting. Are you not having plans after the war?”

“You are correct, the war will end eventually. Unfortunately, my plans are…” He looks away, and whatever bravado he had peters out. “Uncertain at the moment.” He turns back to face Petra, but she can see that he still won’t look her in the eye. “What about yourself, Petra?”

Petra bites her lip thoughtfully. She knows he’s deflecting from whatever pain he’s hiding, but pressing him for unnecessary details might hurt him more. After all, she has experience there.

“Ede—” she cuts herself off, mentally cursing her slip up now of all times, before starting again. Acknowledging the lost friendship still hurts even after five years, even more so in the face of an old friend. “The Emperor says she is wanting my ascension to the throne in Brigid.”

She pauses, before adding for good measure, “For good relations.”

Whatever smile Ferdinand pretends to maintain cracks completely. His entire expression falls, all levity dead in an instant.

He swallows thickly. “I… I see.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, refusing to elaborate further.

“I would not mind returning to Brigid,” Petra continues her previous statement as if Ferdinand’s demeanor didn’t change.

“But?”

“Not like this.” _Not as a hostage_.

“You want to return on your own terms?”

“Yes.”

Ferdinand chuckles bitterly, his voice going soft. “I can understand that.”

“You are not wanting to serve the Empire.” It’s not a question, more of a confirmation of what Petra suspects is the case.

“Not… not like this.” He sighs, echoing her earlier sentiment. She doubts it’s intentional, and even if it was, a flare of sympathy rises all the same. 

He gestures at the garden with a small tilt of his hand. “There’s nothing left for me here. No home. No family. Not even a friend I can see regularly.”

He sighs, wistful, turning his eyes back towards the roses. The unspoken weight of Dorothea, Linhardt, and Caspar’s absence hangs heavy between them. Even still, Petra wants to understand Ferdinand.

“But?”

Petra already has a strong idea of how he will respond. After all, it’s something she tells herself everyday.

He sighs again, this time more defeated. “I can’t abandon my country. Not yet. I have to believe that one day I can make things right in Adrestia.”

He turns to Petra, smiling in a way that’s more a shield than a true expression of emotion. “Even if it means submitting like this.”

Petra feels a wall crumble somewhere deep inside her. The mask she put on for her people fades away, far quicker than she could have possibly imagined.

She reaches across the small table, taking his hands into hers. She can’t let go of him, she won’t let go. Not after all this.

“Do not be dying, Ferdinand.”

His eyes widen comically, and he blinks rapidly from her abrupt intensity. “Where is this coming from?”

Petra grips his hand tighter, almost too tight, and looks him deep in the eye. Forces him to really look at her, not just a polite glance like he’s been doing for this conversation.

He squirms under her scrutiny.

“You are having plans for the future, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

Petra nods in affirmation. “We will be joining our plans together. After the war is ending.”

Ferdinand blinks, stunned by the line of conversation. Then, realization hits him, and he cracks a small smile. A _real_ smile. “I promise you, I have no intention of dying on a friend.”

Petra smiles in return, feeling hopeful for the first time in years. Feeling hopeful to see a future together with a friend she’s missed so dearly.

Ferdinand takes his free hand and clasps it around her hands ensconcing his other hand. He looks at her, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.

“When I return from Myrddin, we can discuss this further.” He gives a gentle squeeze before letting her go. “I promise.”

Her throat tightens, but she fights through it like she always has. “I would be liking that greatly.”

Petra wishes she knew that this would be the last time she would ever see Ferdinand.

—

_1186, Great Tree Moon_

Petra distinctly remembers the first time she ever felt despair, real despair. The kind that gnaws at your soul and leaves you hopeless. It leaves you thinking that you’ll never be happy again, and makes you wonder if it’s even worth getting up again.

The first time was ten years ago, when she lost her father to the Empire. He attempted to end over four hundred years of imperial subjection only to lose his life. He wanted a better future for his people, for his family, but all he won was a future of vassalage.

The first time Petra saw Fódlan, she felt what despair was, even if she didn’t know it yet.

But this isn’t the only time Petra has been forced to endure such despair. No, she’s been forced to face tragedies at every turn. When she realized that Edelgard and Hubert had been planning to betray her from the moment they met was just one of many. Her list grew over the years: receiving Edelgard’s letter, submitting to the Emperor, leaving Dorothea behind, Ferdinand’s death at Myrddin; all losses that ache deep within Petra’s soul.

And now Gronder is nothing but ashes. _Bernadetta_ is nothing but ashes. All by the Emperor’s orders.

The fighting has long since stopped, leaving nothing but a smoldering ruin where Bernadetta once stood. Petra can’t look away, she won’t. Looking away means hiding from the truth, and Petra won’t let the horror of what happened to Bernadetta ever be erased. 

Especially not when Caspar saved her from a similar fate.

Petra feels her body shiver as if she was back in Faerghus. She tries to steady herself, but she can’t stop. It just worsens as the chill cuts at her bone, and some sick part of her wishes she had a fire now. 

Nausea roils in her stomach, threatening to immobilize her. Her knees give out, and she’s ready to fall into the field, only for a pair of arms to steady her.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Dorothea’s gentle voice whispers. It’s the first time Petra has heard her speak in five years. It’s unlike any reunion Petra could have possibly imagined.

Dorothea’s arms enfold her, helping Petra stand her ground. A torrent of new emotions flood Petra, joy and hopelessness in equal measure. Tears stream down her face, blinding her completely.

Petra presses her face into the crook of Dorothea’s neck, leaving them at an awkward angle, but Petra can’t bear to part from Dorothea to fix it. She’s here, she’s really here, and it’s not a dream, but instead a nightmare.

Dorothea’s arms tighten around her, and all of Petra’s resistance breaks.

She cries for the woman who she once thought was her friend. She cries for Caspar, needing emergency medical attention because he saved her from a fiery death. She cries for Bernadetta who wasn’t so lucky. She cries for Ferdinand, and how he’ll never have a proper funeral. She cries for Brigid and her people, and how she’s terrified that they’ll be punished for her actions. But most importantly, Petra cries for herself.

For the first time in ten years, Petra lets herself weep for her pain. For everything she’s lost, for every choice she’s been forced to make, Petra lets it all out. Every feeling of pain that threatens to consume her finally breaks free.

Ten years ago, she told herself that she would never let it show. She promised the people of Brigid that she would shoulder this burden and never waver. 

But that was ten years ago. 

Petra will never stop fighting for her people, but she won’t make the same mistake again. She’s only human, and she can’t force herself to endure this weight anymore. She will never close herself off like this, never break herself when she doesn’t have to.

Petra’s sobs fade into hiccups. She grips tighter onto Dorothea, burying herself as deep as she can into her embrace.

She’ll never give up on Brigid, but she’ll never give up on herself either.

—

_1186, Verdant Moon_

Petra’s last visit to Enbarr was only a few months ago, but it feels like an eternity with all that’s happened.

Last time she was in the city, she was a general of the imperial army awaiting reassignment by her Emperor. Ferdinand and Bernadetta were alive. Linhardt, Caspar, and Dorothea were traitors to the Empire to be shown no mercy.

Now Petra is free, a traitor to the Empire, but free nonetheless. The city looms like a nightmare that never ends, much like it did the first time she saw it ten years ago, but she won’t let this city stand between her and Brigid. 

The war will end before the day does. Petra will make sure of it if she has to.

Once, Petra admired Edelgard’s determination, even related to it. But now she sees the end result of it permeating Enbarr. Edelgard always said she would do whatever it takes to achieve her goals, sacrifice anything; and Petra thought they were the same because of this. But Edelgard’s definition of sacrifice is leagues away from Petra’s.

Unlike the Emperor, Petra has things she can’t afford to sacrifice.

Citizens weren’t allowed to evacuate for the coming attack. It makes sense from a strategic standpoint: keeping the citizens trapped in the fighting meant they could be used as fodder to protect Edelgard from the invasion. It’s all a plan to ensure Edelgard’s ambitions can survive as long as possible.

It’s sickening, but not surprising. After all, if she could sacrifice a former friend to ensure a safe retreat, why would her people be any different?

Petra weaves in and out of the city, avoiding all conflict when necessary. She has a goal in mind, and she can’t waste time on the foot soldiers. 

When she sees her target, sees _Hubert_ , she makes sure he knows who his killer is.

She calls out, loud enough to tear through the fighting. It’s not the most tactically sound move, but she won’t miss. She’s a hunter first, and she can fell two birds with a single arrow.

Hubert is her prey now, and he _will_ know it.

He turns to look at her, a snarl ready on his face, but he never finishes his insult. Petra’s arrows pierces his neck, and he falls not a moment later, hand clutching his throat, uselessly trying to understand what is happening to him. He makes a horrific noise while choking on his own blood, but he dies before he can grasp the reality of his situation. It’s a pitiful end for such a cunning man.

When he falls, the fighting disperses, fleeing to the palace. Without Hubert, all they have left is their Emperor, and she won’t be long for this world. 

Petra rips the arrow from Hubert’s neck and readies it for Edelgard.

—

_1186, Horsebow Moon_

For the first time in over ten years, Petra feels like she can relax. Edelgard is dead, and the Empire is no more.

Brigid is free. _Petra_ is free.

She looks over the edge of the monastery’s dock, the sunrise illuminating the water. It’s nowhere near as beautiful as the waters of Brigid, but the company almost makes it feel close.

Petra leans her head on Dorothea’s shoulder. They’re so close that there’s almost nothing between them, and just behind them are Caspar and Ashe. The four of them finally enjoying a new sense of peace together. It’s almost perfect.

Petra watches the water gently lap at the dock. 

“In Brigid,” Petra disrupts the silence, feeling all eyes turn to her, “the sun shines on the water making it sparkle like gems.”

The sun catches on the water again, reminding her of the waves in Brigid once again. “I am eager to be returning.”

“I’ll bet. You make it sound beautiful, Petra,” Ashe interjects, as supportive as ever. 

“Yes. Swimming in Brigid with the sun shining above… These moments are my favorite.”

Petra looks to the sky. The sun is slowly making its presence known in the early morning. It’s not as beautiful as Brigid, but they don’t know this yet. One day they will, Petra will make sure of it.

An idea strikes her.

She sits up, removing herself from Dorothea’s shoulder so quickly that a startled gasp escapes the other woman. She reorients her position on the dock, ensuring that she has a clear view of Ashe and Caspar behind her.

“I am having an idea. We should be going to Brigid together.”

Ashe’s head snaps towards the sound of Petra’s voice. He flushes. “Oh! Well I would love to but…” he peters out, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. Somehow he manages to flush further. “I don’t know if my duties as a knight would allow me to travel.”

Petra nods. “I am having understanding. I will be establishing an order of knights in Brigid.”

“Wait, what?”

Dorothea moves to look at the two of them, shock plain as day on her face. “Petra… I had no idea you felt that way.”

Caspar’s eyes suddenly widen, the realization of Petra’s words finally hitting him. “Just like that?”

Petra nods again, this time directed at Caspar. “I am to be… no, I _am_ the Queen of Brigid. Ashe will become my guardian knight.”

“I’ll come too!” Caspar shouts, loud enough to wake the monastery.

Dorothea and Ashe both gasp. “Caspar!”

“I’m serious!” Caspar shoots up from where he was sitting, energy radiating off him in spades. “I want to go to Brigid with you. I…”

He stops himself. He looks away, clenching his fists at his sides, replicating a familiar image for Petra. He’s more quiet now, but his voice shakes with passion to match his volume.

“I think you’re an incredible person, Petra. I want to be more like you. I want to be a good friend to you, and I want to help Brigid…” He looks up, meeting Petra’s gaze, eyes blazing with fire. “And I want to help you achieve your dreams.”

Dorothea gasps again, but not in irritation this time. “Caspar…”

It’s an echo of a promise Petra never thought would be fulfilled. Five years ago, she would have cried, but all she can do is smile. 

“Of course you can be joining us. I am looking forward to enjoying the ocean together.” 

Petra sighs, suddenly wistful. “Diving in the ocean together, and gazing at the sky above… I am having certainty that you will enjoy it.”

Caspar laughs, intensity finally melting away. “I’m sure I will!”

Dorothea, long since neglected in this conversation, folds her hands in her lap. Petra knows her well enough that it’s just another tactic to maintain composure. “Well, the three of you will certainly be busy.”

Ashe snaps his attention back towards Petra, his momentary distraction from Caspar finally fading. “Wait, hang on—”

“You will be joining us, Dorothea,” Petra interrupts before Ashe can argue.

Dorothea blinks owlishly. “I will?”

Petra nods eagerly, taking Dorothea’s hands in her own, making sure to look at her clearly. “You are precious to me. It is impossible to imagine Brigid without you.”

Dorothea chokes up, breaking eye contact from the intensity of Petra’s gaze. “Oh, Petra…”

“Wait! Isn’t this too sudden?” Ashe interjects.

Petra lets go of Dorothea’s hands. She turns back towards Ashe, and shakes her head. “I have been thinking this for awhile.” 

She has been thinking this for five years now, ever since she received that letter. All she wanted were friends she could trust, friends who would support Brigid. Friends she could call family.

After all these years, she finally has that.

“I am not wanting a barrier between our hearts anymore. I want to share everything; my heart, my home, my future… all of it.”

Ashe flushes again, but he doesn’t look away this time. “I want that too, Petra.”

“You are agreeing?”

Ashe gives a nervous chuckle. “I can hardly say no to your smile.”

Caspar scoops Ashe up, shouting in excitement, “That’s the spirit!” He howls with laughter. Ashe flails wildly, sputtering profusely. If Ashe tries to break free, Caspar’s grip is too tight to let him.

Dorothea gives a snort. It bursts into full laughter quickly thereafter, the atmosphere contagious.

 _I am sorry, Ferdinand. I wish you could join us,_ Petra offers a mental moment of silence for her fallen friend. He would be a perfect addition to her family, she knows it. She wishes they could have seen their dreams through together. Even if he’s gone, she will achieve her dream for the both of them.

Petra smiles, it’s bittersweet. But it’s a promise.

—

_1189, Garland Moon_

Three years after the war’s end, Brigid is finally flourishing. It’s both far sooner and far longer than Petra anticipated, but she reveals in the results regardless.

The people of Brigid are strong because they had to be, and they put that strength into helping Petra finally establish their autonomy. For the first time in over four hundred, Brigid belongs to no one but her own people.

It was hard work; endless days and nights Petra spent renegotiating trade, and foreign relations in general. Even when discussion of trade didn’t weigh her down, the scars of not just one, but two wars still needed to be healed. But in a miraculous three years, she can now look at sunrise on a newly independent Brigid.

She wishes her father could see all that she’s managed to accomplish in her few years as queen. But even if she can’t share her achievements with her father, she can share it with the family of friends she’s since built.

Petra looks to the horizon from her spot seated in the shade. The sun is shining luminously on the waters around Brigid, light dancing brilliantly on each wave. In the glare, she can make out Dorothea, Caspar, and Ashe at the edge of the shoreline, darting in and out of the waves lapping at the surface.

“They look happy.”

Petra turns to look at the source of the voice behind her, even though she already knows who it is.

“You are early Linhardt.” Several months ago, he sent a letter informing her that he would be joining a public relations meeting; however, the meeting wasn’t for a few more days.

He makes a vague gesture with his hand to brush off her comment. “Don’t worry, the rest of the welcome committee is still on schedule. I just had Cyril take me a few days ahead,” he says, not even trying to stifle a yawn.

“Cyril is here?” 

“Yes, and your people are keeping him entertained. I, for one, found the festivities exhausting.”

Petra chuckles, shaking her head at Linhardt’s usual behavior. “Will he be joining us later?”

Linhardt gives a halfhearted shrug. “Most likely,” he comments, giving a meaningful glance behind him. “He was quite eager to see everyone else, but I told him that you wouldn’t mind if he lingered to enjoy the town.”

Petra nods in agreement, noticing that Linhardt’s gaze has shifted towards the horizon again. She follows his line of sight, just in time to see Caspar tackle Ashe into waves.

“Caspar is fitting in,” Linhardt comments, most likely from seeing Caspar be his usual boisterous self. After all, if anyone knew Caspar’s discomfort with Petra in the past, it was Linhardt. He knows Caspar better than most.

Petra twists her sitting position to get a better look at Linhardt. His expression is how she remembers it, but his brow is faintly furrowing, but whether that’s from worry or the sun, she can’t tell.

“You were having worry about him not fitting in?”

“Yes,” he states without a moment of hesitation, like it’s the most obvious statement in the world. “His family history doesn’t exactly make that easy for him.”

Linhardt is correct, but three years of pure dedication to Brigid has let some of those wounds heal. Not all of them, but enough for Caspar to know he has a place here. 

It helps that Count Bergliez has since died. And that Caspar fought on the opposing side of his father. Petra can’t imagine Brigid accepting him otherwise.

Once upon a time, Petra didn’t even know if she could accept him.

She brushes her thoughts away, not wanting to linger any longer in what could have been. “He was struggling at first. But he has proven himself loyal to Brigid.”

“I suppose joining your new order of knights helps with that. What were they called again? The Blue Sons?”

“Order of the Blue Sun,” she corrects him. “Ashe named it.”

Linhardt chuckles at that. “It does sound like something he would choose.”

A peaceful silence washes over them, serene in its simplicity. The only sound is the waves crashing against the shore, and the occasional shriek from their friends. It’s truly the type of peace Petra once thought only possible in a dream.

“You look happy Petra,” Linhardt says, breaking the quiet.

“I am.”

Linhardt nods as if he’s agreeing with her statement. “That’s good to hear.”

He suddenly steps out of the shadows, reaching a hand out to Petra. “I think it’s about time we joined them, don’t you?”

Petra takes his hand, hoisting herself up from her seat in the shade. “I am liking this plan.” She laughs at the absurdity of Linhardt suggesting this of all people.

He starts out leading her, but eventually they match each other’s strides. Hand in hand, they walk with the sunlight warming them every step along the way. In the brilliant light of day, she embraces her family.

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately tried to keep this route ambiguous. But since this is a gift for Nick, I had a whole az/vw fusion subplot with background dimidue and claudeleth. But then I remembered that has nothing to do with the prompt and I was giving myself more work than I needed to.
> 
> Also rip bc of the hand injury some of these scenes aren’t as polished as I wanted. I did my best I swear 😭


End file.
